McGonagall's Worst Nightmare
by Anaela loves who
Summary: James Potter, son of Harry Potter – why is the perfect trouble maker? McGonagall’s subconscious knows why. Silly one-shot – but lot’s of fun! POST DH CANON


Minerva McGonagall, Headmistress of Hogwarts school of Witchcraft and Wizardry for the past 18 years, was asleep. However, it was a sleep of uneasiness; a sleep of discontent.

She'd been having the same reoccurring dream for the past 3 months, ever since the day school holidays commenced. Now, a night before term was scheduled to begin, she was starting to feel concerned for her sanity.

It began the same way, every dream: she would descend the stairs from her Headmistress' office into the complete disarray that was the main school. Dungbombs would be flying everywhere, biting frisbees screaming in every direction, puffs of smoke exploding at random, graffitied suits of armour, fire crackers erupting without warning, and hundreds of students, _hundreds _running everywhere, hundreds of screaming, laughing, dirty, dishevelled students, amid a chaos that was daunting to behold. And no matter how many times she'd screech 'finite incantenum', or how many detentions she'd administer, or however many hundreds of points she deducted from which ever house, the chaos would not cease.

And in every dream, when she finally reached her final destination, the Great Hall, and placed her hand on its closed doors, she would wake up. But tonight, something was telling her that it was very important to find out what was on the other side of those doors; her subconscious was trying to warn her of something, something wicked that was coming to destroy the peaceful and studious sanctity of her beloved school.

Tonight, when she placed her hands on the Great Hall, the dream did not end; she pushed open the doors.

Inside, it was quiet, tranquil; the ceiling showed that it was night-time, and there was never a clearer or starrier night sky.

It felt wrong.

"Hello, Headmistress."

Minerva jumped. At her table, _in her chair_, was a small boy – he could have only been around 10 or 11 years old.

"And just _who_ might you be, young man?" Minerva barked, walking sharply towards the figure. He was a small boy, quite thin, and had bright red hair. Upon closer inspection, the boy had horribly familiar hazel eyes.

He grinned charmingly. "I'm you're worst nightmare."

_Horribly_ familiar hazel eyes.

"I asked for a name, young man, not a clichéd proclamation!"

"It's James Potter, Headmistress."

_Those hazel eyes – James Potter's eyes!_ One of the most wretched, scheming troublemakers that had ever passed through these walls! But he wasn't – he couldn't – Potter had black hair!

"I happened to have the, er, _pleasure_, of being quite familiar with a James Potter, and I can confidently say he has been dead for about 30 years."

That grin – and a small part of her mind was screaming that there were usually _two _of them – only widened. "Well, Harry Potter is my father, and I was named after his dad – James, my grandfather. But you're right. I'm definitely not like him. I'm… well. I suppose you could say I'm better. A new and improved James Potter."

Minerva snorted derisively. "Mr Potter, I'm afraid you have large shoes to fill. Your late grandfather – " (one could have sworn she had _pride_ in her voice reminiscing about the student that cased her so much strife) " – was an _exceptional_ delinquent! And I daresay you have inherited a large portion of your father's hero complex, you simply won't have the _drive_ to irritate as competently as James did. Young whippersnapper, I suspect you are boasting."

That grin, the grin that should have been part of a pair, remained just as wide. "Dear Headmistress. You're forgetting my mother."

"Ginny Weasley? A fine young witch. Brave. Extremely good at quidditch."

The boy shook his head. "Her brothers, Headmistress. Her _twin_ brothers."

Minerva's eyes widened in horror. The grin that should be part of a pair - _Fred and George_. Two of the most dastardly, ill-behaved deviants ever to grace these halls -

"No!" she whispered hoarsely.

"Yes," James Potter II replied softly, still grinning. "Fred may be gone, but George has taught me well. Both of their blood is flowing through my veins. Not to mention I own 0.75% of Weasley Wizard Wheezes. How will my father's hero complex compete with _that_!" His hazel eyes and twin-ish grin were triumphant.

Minerva clutched her heaving chest – this was a force to be reckoned with! Here, right before her very eyes… A boy whose ancestry was so perfect, so lethally perfect… he was the messiah of all things mischievous!

Armed with an invisibility cloak and the marauder's map, he would be invincible.

"Oh good Lord…"

"It's too late for that now, Headmistress!" James Potter II exclaimed, walking down towards her. "Too late! Gone are the days of book-learning and relative peace; say hello to chaos, to disruption! I will re-write the laws of bad behaviour and mischief-making, and go down as the most formidable, most disruptive, most annoying student ever to attend Hogwarts!" And he threw his head back and barked with laughter.

Something seemed wrong about this statement to Minerva… She remembered a heated discussion with Argus Filch, the old caretaker, almost 40 years ago…

"One thousand and forty-eight," the professor croaked.

Angry confusion crossed James Junior's face. "What?"

"One thousand and forty-eight. Detentions. The highest number of detentions ever received by one student. A student that is no relation of yours. I'm afraid you simply cannot claim the title to most felonious student. Familiar with the name… Sirius Black?

James Junior's face turned blank, and for a moment, she thought she'd had him… but for the second time, he let out that bark of laughter.

…a _horribly familiar_ bark of laughter.

"Oh, but Headmistress. Sirius is my middle name."

Professor McGonagall woke up with a start.

---

Hahaha… it's funny because Sirius IS his middle name! Actually it's pretty sad that I find it so amusing.

…I might delete this later, lol.


End file.
